#list

I love the ritual of drawing up lists, and there's something wonderfully satisfying about ticking tasks off. ↗

— Shaida Kazie Ali

#satisfaction #tasks #love

Why are you kissing me?” she squeaked out breathlessly. “God, how can I not?” He ran his hands up and down her arms. “I think you’re made for me to kiss. I need to kiss you. You need to be kissed,” he said firmly, as if he’d reached some decision that brooked no debate. This did not sound like the smooth-talking and self-possessed charmer of his reputation. ↗

— Catherine LaRoche

#catherine-laroche #dom #master-of-love #love

You may be able to fly to heaven with my love. But for real, my love is only a cheap wine. Seriously, Only God’s love is the precious wine. And She even gives it to everyone. For free! ↗

— Subhan Zein

#love #poetry #relationships #spiritualism #spiritualist-poetry

Fundamentalists offer us a "loving" God who is some kind of divine stalker. ↗

— Robert M. Price

#god #love

Song of myself Now I will do nothing but listen, To accrue what I hear into this song, to let sounds contribute toward it. I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my meals, I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice, I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following, Sounds of the city and sounds out of the city, sounds of the day and night, Talkative young ones to those that like them, the loud laugh of work-people at their meals, The angry base of disjointed friendship, the faint tones of the sick, The judge with hands tight to the desk, his pallid lips pronouncing a death-sentence, The heave'e'yo of stevedores unlading ships by the wharves, the refrain of the anchor-lifters, The ring of alarm-bells, the cry of fire, the whirr of swift-streaking engines and hose-carts with premonitory tinkles and color'd lights, The steam-whistle, the solid roll of the train of approaching cars, The slow march play'd at the head of the association marching two and two, (They go to guard some corpse, the flag-tops are draped with black muslin.) I hear the violoncello, ('tis the young man's heart's complaint,) I hear the key'd cornet, it glides quickly in through my ears, It shakes mad-sweet pangs through my belly and breast. I hear the chorus, it is a grand opera, Ah this indeed is music--this suits me. ↗

— Walt Whitman

#music #noises #sounds #death

Listen to the trees as they sway in the wind. Their leaves are telling secrets. Their bark sings songs of olden days as it grows around the trunks. And their roots give names to all things. Their language has been lost. But not the gestures. ↗

— Vera Nazarian

#bark #gestures #hear #hearing #listen

In February I secured permission to enter Osama bin Laden's compound in the northern Pakistani city of Abbottabad, where he was killed and where he had lived for the last half-decade of his life; the first, and only, journalist to do so. ↗

— Peter L. Bergen

#city #compound #enter #february #first

Listen to learn. Learn to earn! ↗

— Rob Liano

#earn #income-growth #inspiration #knowldege #learning

But I listen to live recordings of things that I did back in the '70s and then how I've done things since. And there's no doubt about it: if I compare the two, it's like chalk and cheese. ↗

— Rick Wakeman

#back #chalk #cheese #compare #did

It's a great feeling to be recognized by your peers. It's an even better feeling to be welcomed and accepted by country radio and its listeners. If desire is any part of this equation, then I'm a contender! ↗

— Chely Wright

#any #better #contender #country #country radio